


Dear Castiel

by samadnriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hunters, Dying Dean, Human Meg, I'm Sorry, M/M, Non-Hunter Winchesters, Sam-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samadnriel/pseuds/samadnriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re sorry to tell you this, son, but your brother is dying.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Castiel

They told Sam before they told Dean.

_“We’re sorry to tell you this, son, but your brother is dying.”_

The woman, a nurse named Meg, patted Sam on the back sympathetically and stayed silent until she heard Sam take a deep breath and gulp back sobs.

His brother was dying.

Dean Winchester, badass superhero brother extraordinaire, was _dying_.

The man with a forest in his eyes and sunshine in his smile, the man who Sam had looked up to for all of his life, was soon to be dead.

“I’ll leave you alone, Mr Winchester,” the nurse murmurs, and she did as she said and left Sam alone in the hospital room to cry beside his dying brother.

Sam realised that he’d never actually seen his big brother look so small and frail: Dean was pale and skinny; far skinnier than one would consider healthy, but that would be because he _wasn’t_.

No, Dean was hooked up to various different machines, and if you asked Sam what they all did, he wouldn’t be able to tell you the answer. He’d say, “They’re the things that keep my brother alive,” and then he’d look away, squeezing his eyes shut as he makes excuses to cover the fact that his eyes are permanently filled with salty tears.

Sam felt like the big brother: not for the first time, mind you, but for the first time when he’d actually meant it seriously. Sam wasn’t supposed to watch his big brother die this young, and it killed him inside to know that there was nothing he could do.

When Dean was first hospitalised, he’d made Sammy promise that no matter how shit things got, he’d do nothing stupid. Hell, if he was dying, then let him die. Sam wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t going to deny Dean of his wish, so he’d just sat there and inhaled the smell of his coffee. It reminded him of home. His old home, with Dean and Mom and Dad and peanut butter jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off and freshly baked cookies and fresh mandarins and fresh coffee and that faint smell of oil that was always just _there_ because of John’s work and that disgusting underlying smell of sweat and sex that lingered around his seventeen year old brother. His home, with Led Zeppelin IV _always_ playing quietly on the record player in the corner, because even his jock brother liked classic rock and John liked classic rock and Mary could tolerate classic rock, so it was immediately a ‘family favourite.’ There was the nickel jar on the dresser in the study that suspiciously remained half full no matter how much change everyone deposited. There were pictures of Sam and Dean together, a picture for every year, taken each year on Sam’s birthday, all the way up until Sam was fourteen and Dean was eighteen, because that was the year that Mary killed herself and John just didn’t have the heart or the energy or the will or the steady hand to pick up the camera again. The smell changed after that, to stale alcohol and disinfectant and fresh lilies and books and John’s recurrent smell of oil. It no longer smelled of home without Mary there, so Sam stopped visiting.

But he went back for Dean. Dean had asked him to come back, so he did, and he didn’t regret any of it. John had died, and it was just Sam and Dean for years and years and years, until now. Now, it was going to be just Sam, and Sam wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t know what to do without his big brother there to lean on. Sure, he often complained about how much of a fuckwit Dean was, but he never meant any of it. He complained about his music or his eating habits or his lack of aspiration, but Dean was Sam’s brother, and for every bad thing, there were a thousand and one good things on top of that. Sam really didn’t know how he was going to cope without seeing his brother and his big goofy grin and his eyes which lit up every time Sammy walked into a room.

He didn’t know what he was going to do.

Dean woke up after that, briefly. It was long enough for Sam to choke out a coherent sentence explaining what had been said.

“Dean- Dean, they said you’re gonna die. But I’m not gonna let you, okay? There’s gotta be somethin’ they can do, ‘cause you ain’t leavin’ me, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

Sam stopped then, pausing to take a shaky breath and to wipe his tears away with the sleeve of his shirt, because he needed to focus on something other than Dean’s carefully composed face because he just couldn’t deal with it all.

“Dean, you- you gotta say somethin’, man. You can’t leave me. I know I left you after Mom died, but I came back, but if you leave me, you ain’t gonna be able to come back. It isn’t like that. I can’t- you won’t be able to-”

Sam dissolved into ugly tears, and he bit his lip and hid his face in his hands, because Dean needed him to be strong, dammit. He couldn’t understand how Dean could be so calm about it all, because he hadn’t even flinched, not now, not ever; he seemed to be welcoming death, and that itself scared Sammy more than anything.

Dean was ready to die, and Sam couldn’t understand why.

When he looked back up, Dean was asleep again, but Sam noticed something sticking out from underneath his big brother’s pillow. He pulled the paper out, and Dean didn’t move, and when he saw who the letter was addressed to, he did the thing he knew was right. He left the room with tear-stained cheeks and perpetually red eyes to call the bastard who left Dean to die with not so much as a sorry to follow.

The man with eyes as blue as the ocean arrived barely after one, and Sam just left the letter with him and went back to see his big brother. Sam was more composed now, and though he still didn’t understand how or why or what, he had stopped crying because he knew it would be what Dean wanted.

Dean woke up once more, to ask if Sam had done what he’d asked, and when Sam nodded, Dean said, “You’re a good kid, Sammy,” and fell back to sleep again. When Castiel came crashing through the door like a tidal wave breaking on the wet summer sand, it was too late. Dean had gone, and there was nothing neither Sam nor Castiel could do, and while Castiel just stood in the corner, chest heaving, eyes watering, holding the letter in a closed fist, Sam was angry. Anger welled up in him like it never had before, because he was angry that Dean had given up so quickly just when everything was about to be fixed.

Sam blamed everyone, but Castiel was the one who he punched, and Castiel was the one who stood there, blood dripping onto his shoe, holding the letter tight while Sam was crying and yelling and breaking into a million pieces, because Dean was wrong before. He _couldn’t_ be strong, not during this.

Castiel was the one who was there for years afterwards, after Sam wasn’t angry any more, after everything had died down. He left lilies at Dean’s grave and constantly wondered if it was his fault, it he was the one to blame, because he still had the letter, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve been different if he had been there.

 

***

 

Castiel,

 

There were supernovas behind your eyelids and they made my mind turn into a litany of ‘I love yous,’ but every time I tried to say them aloud I knew that someone who could carry the entire universe in their eyes would never love someone like me.

I told myself that when I met you, I had finally found something to live for. You were the answer. Even when the stars were fading and you were falling and the world was crashing and the world was burning, you told me not to worry because I’ll see them all again someday. I don’t think you knew what I meant by stars, because you haven’t returned to me, and I _need_ you, man.

There’s no salvation for me now. I needed you to keep my faith alive, but you left, Cas. You left. I started out strong but I then I lost, and you left before I could tell you how much I needed you to help me survive. I needed you to stay invincible, Cas. I needed you to return to me.

Please, Cas. For me. I’m saying it now, okay? I don’t want to surrender, but I can’t survive this on my own. Please don’t leave me to die here. I need you, Cas. I _love_ you.

I’d travel halfway across the universe to tell you how much I love you, Cas. I miss the way you’d used to look at me all the time, like someone had managed to capture the moon and hand it to you on a string. You made me feel wanted, Cas, and I need that. I wanna live, Cas. I don’t just wanna survive; I want to live, and I need you for that, but you _left_.

Why’d you have to leave?


End file.
